


Scrap Iron Satellites

by tieria



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tieria/pseuds/tieria
Summary: Little character moments, tiny shipfics, and all the ways it could have gone.





	1. [Fudo Yusei] Stardust and Scrap Metal

Humans are made up of stardust, bones traced from the tails of comets and skin dappled with the maps of galaxies long since lost to the darkness in between. It is a reality infinite and dazzling, stretching out as far as the human mind dares to reach, and Yusei…

Yusei has always been better with scrap metal. Stardust is such a fragile, self-sacrificing thing, glimmering bright against the darkness in the hopes of guiding just one person before it vanishes. A perfect contrast to the scrap metal that litters Satellite, solid under his touch, molded and painted into the bright red of the star he’s chasing. 

(And if he’s honest- if he chooses to address it, the transient hope of it reminds him of ambitions, both old and new, born from this scrap iron Satellite- of himself. He does not intend to become hope, for he’s seen the lengths to which desperate men will  go to cradle the tiniest of sparks between their palms. To him, it is a matter of protecting what must be protected and setting right that which has done the innocent wrong.)

But, thinks Yusei, much, much later, remembering a man who had met his eyes with haunted mirror blue and dared invoke his name as legend rather than man- 

But, thinks Yusei, staring down at his scrap-metal Satellite, gleaming bright as the City ever did- if stardust is to be his legacy, then let it be stardust who showed his city how to  _ shine _ .


	2. [Crow Hogan] Black Wings, Kind Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow makes it his business to help out the kids of Satellite. Food, cards, clothes- anything they need, he’ll steal- and if he's caught, well... All marks he’ll wear with pride. But sometimes, all a kid needs is a little bit of time and a few words like a promise.

Kindness was not a thing shown so easily in Satellite. They'd gotten lucky that Martha had found them so early after Zero Reverse; he'd overheard enough of Kiryu’s stories of the early days, of trying to make ends meet on the streets that he knew that. 

_ Hell, _ he thought, taking a hard turn down the abandoned street, Blackbird’s engine roaring beneath him, he’d practically lived half of them himself, scattered across those years not as far behind him as he’d like to think. He pushed the engine a little harder, feeling it powerful beneath him, a spring ready to uncurl-

A little more speed. A little more wild. A little more brash, ready to spread black wings bold through the sky at the top of Daedalus Bridge-

Crow took the approaching turn hard and hissed as he felt something give beneath him, felt the roar of his engine cut fast into spluttering silence. He skidded sideways, felt his D-wheel start to pull from him, caught in its own momentum-

Crow blinked. In a second it was gone from him and he was tumbling down the crumbling street, breath knocked from him hard, the sound of screeching, skidding metal a distant second to the clatter of the pavement against his helmet. 

_ Bad luck blackbird, _ he thought against the beat of his oncoming headache, rolling to a stop. A second on the ground to take stock of himself- shoulder battered and doubtless bruised, hip hurting and clothes scuffed beyond repair, but otherwise, somehow, unhurt. A second to take off his helmet, let it clatter beside him, to let the ringing in his ears fade away into the industrial white noise of Satellite. Another second to push himself to his feet, and then Crow had forgotten everything. The pain, the pounding in his head- everything vanished at the sight of the kid. The kid, duel monsters cards clutched in hand like the treasures they were. The kid, splayed prone across the ground beside the road.

Crow scrambled over towards him, hoping,  _ feeling _ more so than thinking-  _ C’mon, c’mon! Don’t let him- _

The kid let out a shuddering breath, and Crow let out one of his own as the aches rushed back.

“Hey,” he said, dropping back to his knees with a hard thump beside the kid, “You okay?”

The kid muttered something unintelligible into the dirt. Crow dropped a careful hand onto his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t flinch away. He didn’t. Instead, a horribly long breath. Pushing himself to his elbows and knees, he tried again- “Lost. A duel. Frien… Some people stole my duel disk. Some cards. Didn’t stand a chance.”

And yeah, Crow could see it then- the red precursor to bruises where his duel disk was pulled from his arm, the way he clung so desperate to what remained of his flimsy deck.

“You need any help?”

The kid shook his head, spoke quietly, too polite. “No. I’ve had worse.” Something in Crow’s blood boiled at the truth of it. Already his thoughts churned- the kid was older than he usually took in, sure, but if he’d just been knocked back down to square one, who was anyone to tell him not to help him back to his feet-

The kid broke into his thoughts, flopping into a cross-legged slouch beside Crow. “Is your D-Wheel okay?”

Crow absolutely did  _ not _ almost swear in front of a kid at the reminder that Blackbird probably took a much harder fall than he did, thank you very much. Just made a horrible, choked-off noise of sheer pain as he looked it over from afar. There were no visible parts scattered around the road (a good sign), and no smoke rising from the engine (an even better sign). If there was damage, Crow figured, he could probably repair it himself.  

“Eh,” he said, “it’s had worse.”

It very much had  _ not _ had worse than that, but there was no need to dull the shine in the kid’s eyes at the words exchanged like a secret code, a little promise between them.  _ We’ve seen worse. Knock us down and we’ll just get right back up again. _

With no small hint of dreamy wistfulness, the kid said, “That’s so cool. Like, you’re almost a pro.”

“One day I’m gonna be,” Crow said, glancing down at the cards the kid was fiddling between his fingers. It was a horrible patchwork deck of whatever the kid could dig up, clearly- likely whatever scraps those  _ friends _ of his had seen fit to leave him- but something familiar caught Crow’s eye, and he latched onto it with undeniable excitement.

“D. D. Crow, huh?” he said, fishing about his pockets for his side deck, “That used to be one of my favorite cards, way back when.”

“Really?” asked the kid, and Crow pulled it triumphant from his pocket- still sitting on the top of his side deck, its place of honor. He’d long since stopped playing with it, retired once its edges had begun to nick and color fade, as Blackwings had begun to fill up more and more of the space in his deck. He grinned, watching old memories play across the sheen of it. “Yeah. It was my first card. You don’t ever forget that one.”

“Yeah,” muttered the kid. Again he went far away, staring after the long-gone backs of his former friends and the card doubtless held in hands that didn’t deserve it. For a moment, in those distant amber eyes, Crow thought he caught the barest flash of an expression he was always more used to seeing on deep blue.

“Hey,” he said, before he could stop himself, and the kid startled back to the present, blinking up at Crow. “If you ever need a place, I’ve got one. Doesn’t matter what you need, I’ll help you out. By the bridge. Ask around for Crow, the kids there’ll know.”

“Thank you,” the kid said. He held out a hand; Crow shook it. A deal- but Crow doubted he’d see the kid again. With resolve like that, he’d make it just fine. As if by agreement, the kid hopped to his feet, brushed the dirt and grime from his stained shirt, and started off a few steps. Crow started back towards Blackbird, mentally cataloguing the potential damage- but halfway there he was stopped by a yell, bright and bold at his back.

“Once you get to the city!” the kid yelled, “Show them what us Satellite kids are made of!”

With that, the kid turned and ran, spirited in a way that brought a grin to Crow’s face.

_ Yeah _ , Crow thought,  _ yeah. _ He yelled back as the kid vanished around a corner, “You better be there to cheer me on!”

No reply. Or rather, if the kid yelled one back, he couldn’t hear it- but as he hoisted Blackbird upright, he thought he heard like an echo of his own thoughts-  _ Yeah. I will. _


	3. [Carly Nagisa] Kind of off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carly remembers. The first person she tells about it isn't the one that she's expecting it to be.

Carly remembers. At first there is a resonance, the feeling of her own consciousness crumbling in on itself, a terrible light-headed claustrophobia in the middle of the open sidewalk- and then something where there had been nothing. 

No, wrong. Weight, bearing down hard and bruising where she had not been aware of it, crushing her head and forcing her shoulders to bend, unable to stand up to the force of it. She doesn’t remember crumbling to the ground, or the clatter of her groceries as they spill across the ground. _ It’s just as well _ , intuits a part of her, distant and dreaming,  _ it’s not exactly a shining moment, anyway. _

She dreams in fitful snatches of technicolor scenery and fragmented sound. 

A grand office, the crack of shattering glass.

Broken glasses and bent frames, the sound of her name.

A hummingbird set imposing across the sky, the wind as she raced against it.

An embrace.

Again, the black.

Her own voice throws her from her slumber-  _ “Your destiny is already decided!” _

Carly wakes in a panic of falling, still hearing a voice touched by desires so close to her own that even now the echoes of them call to her-

Carly shoots bolt upright, throwing the small blanket covering her off the couch entirely in her haste. Panic, the cold realization of falling, falling, falling- “Where am I?”

Her head splits, suddenly, a pain that moves through her like lightning, and she ducks her head into her hands, eyes clenched shut against the light she knows can’t possibly be there. The flames only chase behind her eyelids, burning unearthly purple in the night.

“You’re in the attic,” says a familiar voice, “Safe.”

Once the pain starts to subside, Carly blinks blurry into the spartan room. Everything comes into focus with the click of a coffee cup as Yusei sets it down on the table.

“Hello,” she says, unsure what else to do. She had, admittedly, expected to see Jack.

It’s clear that on some level Yusei understands, because he replies, “Sorry, Jack is out today. Someone called the last number on your phone when you collapsed. I thought it would be best to bring you back here, since you didn’t seem hurt.”

Carly is halfway through a bright word of thanks when the memory hits her. Souls, plucked haphazard from the surroundings. She cared not who or why, so long as she could take her revenge on that single one, to make him  _ feel _ just what he had done to her-

She chokes on her words and slaps a hand over her mouth, gags at the satisfaction she had felt, in that forgotten moment.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Yusei asks, obviously concerned he’d misjudged the situation. Carly waves a hand in lieu of her head. She doesn’t know how much she wants to tell him, just wants to speak to Jack again, to lean against his shoulder and remind herself of her own existence, the soul she’s sure must be there beside the beat of her heart, returned to her in that embrace-

The words they exchanged that day are so clear, why are they still so  _ clear- _

“Carly?” Yusei asks, approaches her slowly, cautiously. He picks up the blanket at her feet but makes no motion to come any further.

No, Carly thinks, maybe this isn’t a conversation she wants to have with Jack right now. But she remembers a figure among her former comrades (if she could even call them that). She remembers Jack disappearing to the middle of nowhere with hardly a word, returning with a muttered apology of  _ Satisfaction Town _ and  _ old friends _ , and she decides to take the gamble.

“I just,” she says, trying to smile but grimacing instead, “remembered a few things.”

Yusei freezes.  _ Bingo. _ He ventures, more tentative than she’s used to seeing him, “About the Dark Signers?”

She risks a nod. It doesn’t make her head feel like it’s going to explode like a bursting drum. That, if nothing else, is a relief.

“Do you want to talk to someone?”

She isn’t sure if he means himself, Jack, or their friend, though the way he looks ready to take off towards the phone points towards one of the latter. Either way, she’s certain she can’t talk about it yet- she wouldn’t know where to start, how to sort her emotions from the ones that she felt then, that were imposed on her by another will. Still, she thinks, it’s nice to at least have the option.

“Um, I think I want to think about it on my own for a little bit,” she says, and Yusei nods. He hands her the blanket and backs away.

Carly is struck with a sudden certainty-  _ Glass, sparking in the air around her as the lightest pieces catch the wind. _ She’s unbearably cold in the warm room, stuffy with the summer heat. She shivers, wraps the blanket around her shoulders. Her thoughts come in slow motion, slowed to an infinite crawl in the memory.  _ There are so many things I haven’t said yet. We made plans, tomorrow. We were… I was…  I don’t want to be alone- _

“Do you mind,” she says, unable to stop herself, “if I stay here? I mean, not forever! Just… For a little bit?”

She must have been out of it for longer than she realized- Yusei is already standing at the table again, mug of coffee in hand. He waves the mug at her slightly. “As long as you need. Coffee?”

Carly nods, and she must lose time again, spacing out between the rattle of the coffeemaker and the clatter of a ceramic mug, because suddenly Yusei is standing before her with her coffee, swirling light brown in the chipped white mug. She takes a tiny sip- three creams, two sugars, just the way she likes it when she’s not racing her deadlines and chugging it down straight from the pot at three in the morning.

The warmth of the mug between her palms and the familiar taste are solid things, grounding enough that she feels a sudden flash of embarrassment firmly about the present- how much time has she been spending here, exactly, if even  _ Yusei _ knows how she likes her coffee?- but that’s not the point, even if it is refreshingly normal.

“Thank you,” she says, and her smile comes out genuine, this time.

Yusei returns it. “No problem.”

Carly breathes in the sharp scent of coffee, tries to organize her scattered thoughts. Yusei returns to his work in the garage below, and that, too, is oddly soothing. Pieces of her life as it should be. Pieces of her life as it  _ is _ , the corrects herself firmly. Under her breath, she makes a list-

First, coffee and thoughts. Second, Jack. The two of them, the things that must be said, tears she knows she won’t be able to hold back.  _ Then _ , she thinks,  _ step by step towards tomorrow together. _


	4. [Sherry Leblanc] Once upon a time…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prologue/introduction sketch to a roseknight story I want to write someday. a fantasy post-apocalyptic au!  
> (snippet itself is fairly gen, though.)

This is the story of the Rose Knight and the Crimson Witch. 

Once upon a time, in a Kingdom ruled by the King and Queen Atlas, forever benevolent, a small girl had lost her parents. It was not so uncommon an occurrence- though the law was fair and the Kingdom a safe haven in the lawless world, criminals were forever blinded by their own greed. It is what that young girl heard, at the funeral, at the orphanage, at school- but the young girl was not so convinced. 

Because her father had told her stories. A Knight of Rose, a woman with tragic past and the strength of three men, who rose beyond her calling and defeated the terrible old witch who had commanded her parent’s death at the start of the end of the world-

Her father had been a seer. She was not so young as not to know that.

And perhaps- just perhaps, Sherry thought a decade later, picking up the sword fallen before her, staring down the demon that loomed ahead- that had been his own little kindness.

(In the world beyond the Cataclysm, those faerie tale words were spoken quiet reassurances from one to another, the promise of revival in a long dead world.

_ Once upon a future time, in the small Kingdom sheltered by the wings of the Crimson Dragon, a girl shall be born. Of Noble blood that Knight shall rise, raised on single thought alone.  _

_ Find the Witch. Rise from the ashes of the ruined world and destroy the witch who caused it all, so that the life destroyed may once more be reborn. _

_ From the hands of the fallen shall she pull a blade of Rose to turn on its former master, from the all-consuming dark shall rise a steed of light to serve at her side. From the very moment of her birth was she fated to duel the Witch, to see fragile destiny through to its end. _

_ And yet the witch with arm burning bloody red will speak to her words she cannot understand. Statements caught between truth and lie, spoken with utter certainty and a plea to understand. Impossibilities, the Knight will snarl, clever words to deceive weaker souls- but truth will not hide from she who seeks it so desperately. _

_ And, sword held to the Witch’s throat, victorious on the hour of their final duel, the Rose Knight will-) _

Erasing the end of the story, Sherry thinks, brandishing the blade in her hand as white rose petals dance light across its silver surface, to let her choose her own future. Was it a kindness? Or a father’s desperate attempt at defeating a curse?

Sherry let out a breath, eyes watching sharp as the demon advanced. It was of no matter. She had already made up her mind. When the final battle arrived, she would end the witch’s life, and so shall the world be restored. 


	5. [treasonshipping] Bonds α

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past, Present, Future.  
> Tiny snippets of a relationship trying to find its way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a companion piece to the next chapter but not really

Fudo Yusei is sixteen and entirely sure that he’ll follow Kiryu to the ends of the earth and back, plunge himself into the deep depths of hell if it means Kiryu can walk the world free just that much longer-

(But all things must break. Kiryu’s plans get vicious. Crow leaves. Jack leaves. The world does not move to the whims of a single dreamer’s devotion.)

Yusei is eighteen now, and really, he thinks as he stands on the same ground as Kiryu for the first time in years, he hasn’t changed at all. The added time simply comes with things that must be set right, both with his actions and with his words, even if they fall on deaf ears and blind eyes. Trying to protect the ones he loves has been one of the only things that’s ever truly driven him. It’s why there will be no hesitation when he faces Kiryu again. 

(Well, he’s always loved with his whole heart.)

Kiryu says that things have changed. And, well, there’s no way for Yusei to deny that. Their histories no longer match, the edges of their lives no longer line up so cleanly. In places they grate. In others there are chasms and gulfs between them, insurmountable distances that Yusei knows he might see, but will never be able to touch. 

(Kiryu says it like an excuse for not trying. Yusei hates that resignation, that melancholy so opposite of everything he remembers about him. He asks Kiryu not to give up so easily. He’s not sure if he hears or not.)

But it doesn’t matter. Years ago, in the form of brazen plans and all the charm of reckless charisma, Kiryu had given him hope. And no matter how many times it takes, no matter how many times it takes the sparks to settle... He’ll return that hope double, triple, tenfold- whatever it takes until they’re finally both satisfied.


	6. [scoopshipping] Bonds β

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past, Present, Future.   
> All the things he loves about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semi companion piece to the previous chapter but not really

Jack Atlas is nineteen years old when the realization starts to wash over him, eroding slow at his ideal notions of the solitary King. The realization is this: Carly Nagisa is perhaps the greatest steadying force he’s ever had in his life. A woman who had known him as King, but had not insisted on clinging to the shadow of his greatness, who, with straightforward eagerness, grew to know him as “Jack” and has refused his every attempt to push her away-

(He loves her, even if he can’t quite manage to say the words.)

He loves her when she proposes increasingly ridiculous disguises for dates, he loves her when he opens the door to her apartment in the morning only to find her passed out in front of her computer, and he loves her when there’s nothing left of her but a broken pair of glasses and Jack’s own memories, gathered up from the dust.

(Loneliness is not an emotion that he’s used to. Not anymore.) 

It’s harder than he expects to welcome her home. If he had saved her- if that duel had ended on his terms, instead of hers- then perhaps it would be easier. But it didn’t, and it’s not. He grows more distant, less open, refuses all her questions about her time as a Dark Signer because he can’t trust himself not to say ‘ _ you died in my arms, Carly _ ’ like some sort of insult to hide the matching wound it left on him. 

(It’s unfair of him, and he knows just as well as she does. It’s unfair of him and yet he still-)

But it’s the quiet moments that make him want to believe. Like this, sipping tea and coffee across the cafe table from each other, watching the crowds pass by. Settled together on the couch, everyone else having long since retired to their rooms after movie night in the garage, watching something melodramatic and trashy that neither of them will quite want to admit to secretly adoring.

It’s the soft things that make him think-  _ this isn’t something you can lose _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> treason and scoop, two of my all time otps, murdering me since the summer of seventh grade


End file.
